Mio Amore
by HeyMrsPotter
Summary: Side story to Memory Lane. The story of Draco after the war. He decides to go travelling in Europe where he meets the mysterious Evelina who will change his life completely.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Hello! For all of you who have read Memory Lane this story is a sort of companion to it. Someone told me that the Draco/Evelina part could be a story in itself so I've devided to write it! You don't have to have read Memory Lane for this to make sense but if you chose to, beware of spoilers! Anyway, enjoy the first chapter and if you have the time please leave a review :)**

The owl arrived on a Saturday, exactly three weeks after the defeat of Voldemort. The celebrations had finally started to settle down and the Wizarding world was beginning to be put back together again. Countless funerals had been held, endless parties thrown resulting in suspicions being raised amongst the Muggles once more and now the official business was being handled. This included sending the screech owl that summoned three Malfoy's to the ministry.

Draco sat at the end of his mahogany four-poster bed, where he had spent the majority of the last three weeks, and read the letter once more.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_This letter hereby summons you to attend a meeting at the Ministry for Magic where you will be trialled for your involvement in the Dark Arts prior to and throughout the recent war. Please present yourself at:_

_Wizengamot Courtrooms  
Level Ten  
Ministry for Magic headquarters _

_on Monday 18__th__ May at nine am. Failure to attend will result in your immediate arrest. _

_Regards,_

_Oberon Wittleforth,  
Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot._

The formal-looking black owl had delivered three of these letters; the other two had been addressed to Draco's parents, who were to attend the same trial. He was not surprised at their arrival; there had been an article in the Prophet that the Ministry would be contacting anyone who was thought to have been on Voldemort's side and he knew as soon as he read it that it applied to him and his family. The knowledge had not stopped him from feeling sick to the core at the possibility of being sent to Azkaban though. The only slither of a silver-lining being that the Dementors had been banished (where to Draco neither knew nor cared), and wizard guards had replaced them. Still, Draco would do anything not to be sent there.

Now that the Dark Lord was gone, Draco could see what a fool he had been to support him. Two years ago, he was nothing more than a fool; a child with an ego that needed satisfying and a father who had provided him with the opportunity to do so.

After being branded with the Dark Mark in the summer holidays before sixth year, he would pull up his sleeve every moment he was alone and marvel at the twisted serpent, knowing that it meant he was every bit as powerful as his father, as trained and qualified wizards at the tender age of fifteen. He longed for September first when he could brag to his friends and make them idolise him more than they already did. His childish dreams had been ruined when he was summoned by Voldemort and assigned the seemingly impossible task of killing Albus Dumbledore under the threat of his parents' lives. No longer did he want to brag and he began to avert his gaze from the black mark on his forearm.

The deeper he had fallen into the Dark Arts, the more he wanted to claw his way out of the merciless grasp Voldemort had over him. His attempts to take Dumbledore's life we barely thought out and each minute he spent in the room with the vanishing cabinet, he prayed it couldn't be fixed as much as he prayed it could be, if only for the sake of his parents. He knew when his moment arrived that the two words would never come and when Dumbledore had offered him a way out it was though a fire had been lit in his chest. Hope had arrived and was stamped out just as quickly, Severus had completed the task Draco was given and the chance to escape the life he no longer wanted was gone.

Still it had not been enough, he was _still_ forced to watch people die, die for their blood status and die for fighting on the side of good. The only thing he was thankful for then was that his parents were still alive; he was not alone in Hell.

Then along came Harry Potter.

Draco recognised the three young adults that were dragged ruthlessly into his home the second he saw them. There was no mistaking Weasley's trademark ginger hair and Granger's wild mane. Potter had been hit with a stinging hex but even that didn't stop him recognising a face he had spent seven years hating. They were the only thing stopping the side he was fighting for from winning, one word of confirmation from Draco and that would have been it: war over, or so Voldemort thought. As long as people thought Harry was alive they would carry on resisting. One word was all it would have taken and once again, Draco could not bring himself to say the right thing. That was the moment that he knew which side he wanted to win. Though it was not the side he would fight for because switching sides would result in the death of his parents.

But Potter had won nonetheless and Draco was to be punished for his crimes.

Since the defeat of Voldemort, Draco had barely spoken to his parents and had avoided all contact with the outside world. His father had taken to locking himself away in the library, only coming out to take another bottle of mead from the pantry. His mother had begged and pleaded with him to come out, to stop drinking and to talk to her but he would simply slam the door in her face with a lazy flick of his wand.

After a week of that, she had given up and sought out her son instead. Draco had jumped at the gentle knock on the door and called out for his mother to enter. That was when she told him what happened in the Forbidden Forest when Voldemort killed Harry. Draco, in turn, confessed the lie he had told the night Potter was brought to their home and a mutual understanding passed between mother and son. Neither had wanted the dark side to triumph.

* * *

The day of the trial arrived and Draco had been up for several hours. Sleep had evaded him the night before and it was reflected in the dark shadows under his eyes that contrasted with his paler-than-usual skin. He fastened the plain silver square cufflinks on his shirt and smoothed down creases that couldn't be seen as he stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. Sighing heavily he headed out of the room and took one last look around it before closing the door behind him, who knew when he would see his childhood bedroom again?

His mother was waiting for him in the dining room, dressed impeccably in a black skirt suit and clutching a dragon-skin handbag. Her expression was composed as always but Draco knew from the way she tapped her toe on the wood floor beneath her that she was nervous. He approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture and she gave him a small smile in return before glancing over her shoulder at the doorway that led to the library. Draco followed her line of sight, wondering if his father would come with them to the ministry or be taken by force later today by a team of Aurors.

It seemed that the latter would not be happening, for moments later the door opened and Lucius Malfoy staggered out, clutching an almost empty glass bottle. He was a shadow of the man he once was; his hair lank and greasy, filthy robes that he had been wearing for weeks hung off his skeletal figure that was a result of his liquid diet, and his eyes were grey and lifeless.

Draco's hand twitched towards the wand that was in his pocket, tempted to cast a cleaning spell over his father to make him at least _look_ presentable, but the desire to give the world a good impression was simply an old habit and it didn't take long for Draco to realise he did not care for other people's opinions, nor for the mess of a man that stood before him and so his wand remained in its place.

"Lucius…" Narcissa whispered.

He looked at his wife but said nothing, he merely grunted in acknowledgement.

"Come on, Mother," Draco said, "we'd better be going."

He picked up the heavy marble pot that was a Malfoy family heirloom and pulled out a handful of green floo powder before passing it to Narcissa who in turn handed it to her husband, earning her another grunt. Draco threw the powder into the flames and called out "Ministry of Magic!" and was squeezed through the floo network, stepping gracefully out at his destination.

He watched the Ministry workers in envy as they rushed to and fro, occasionally stopping to chat to one another before hurrying off again. They were sure of how their days would go; they would work, have lunch, work some more and go home, maybe to a partners and children, have their dinner and go to bed before getting up and doing it all again the next day. Draco desperately wished for such mundane things like a job and a family. How long would he have to spend in Azkaban should they chose to send him there? Would he still be able to start a family when he got out? Would anyone even want him after he was convicted for being a Death Eater?

He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind, there was still a chance; albeit a small chance, that he would be free to go. What then? One thing was for sure, he did not want to live under the same roof as his father if he did go free. He would get as far away from him as possible.

The family slowly made their way to the lift and pressed the button that bore the number nine. Draco scowled at the cheery voice that announced each new level of the building, he knew it was a ridiculous annoyance but no-one should sound that happy when today was such a difficult day for him. They stepped out when the woman finally announced 'Level nine: Department of Mysteries' and descended the sparsely lit stairs that led to the Wizengamot courtrooms.

A Ministry official wearing the purple robes of the magical court greeted them outside the door. She was short and squat with no real distinguishable features. Draco didn't catch her name and did not care to know it, she played a part in the impending decision regarding his fate and would probably send him to Azkaban: pleasantries would not be shared with her.

They entered the large room and Draco felt as though he had stepped into a fishbowl. It was perfectly circular and the ceiling was much higher than strictly necessary. Along one side there were rows of raised benches, each seat occupied. There were a dozen or so witches and wizards wearing the same set of robes as the woman who greeted them and a man in the centre at the front whose robes were the same shade of purple but were grander and lined with gold; Draco presumed he was the man with the ridiculous name who had sent the letter summoning him. They began whispering amongst themselves as soon as the three Malfoy's entered. At the other side of the room there were three wooden chairs with high backs and cuffs built into the arm rests, he tensed a little at the sight, surely they wouldn't lock them into the chairs?

They were guided to the seats and Draco breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down and the cuffs stayed open leaving his arms free. He ran a hand nervously through his hair as he waited for the witch to sit down and the trial to begin.

The Chief Warlock stood up and the quiet murmuring stopped, all eyes were now on Draco and his parents.

"You are Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy of Malfoy Manor, correct?"

"Yes," replied Draco and his mother. Lucius jerked his head in a small nod.

"You understand that you have been summoned by myself; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and the witches and wizards of the court on suspicion of Death Eater activity?"

They confirmed.

"Do you deny the charges?"

There was a pause before the three shook their heads.

"And you understand that, should the court find you guilty on this day, Monday May eighteenth, you will be sent directly to the wizard prison Azkaban for the time deemed necessary?"

Again, they confirmed.

"The court would like to call in the first witness," he said nodding to a guard standing by a door Draco hadn't noticed.

He froze a little at the mention of a witness, he wasn't aware there would be any. Surely anyone they brought in wouldn't have anything to say that would help their case. To his utter surprise, a familiar black-haired figured entered and sat in a chair that was conjured into the middle of the room. Draco shrank a little in his chair, if this was the witness then he had no hope of escaping imprisonment in Azkaban.

"You are Harry James Potter of number twelve Grimmauld Place?" the Chief Warlock asked.

"Yes, well, I'm not actually living there at the moment, I'm living at The Burrow but-" Harry rambled.

"You own number twelve Grimmauld Place, do you not?"

"Well, yes, technically."

"Thank you. You understand you are here to give evidence towards the case of the Malfoy family and their involvement in the Dark Arts?"

"Yes," Harry replied.

"Can you relay to the court the information you gave to the Minister for Magic last week regarding Draco Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy please."

Harry took a deep breath and began to speak. To Draco's complete shock and amazement, he began to tell the court of the night at Malfoy Manor after he was caught by the snatchers, he paused when he came to the part about Bellatrix asking Draco if he recognised the trio.

"And what did Mister Malfoy say?" prompted one of the witches to the left of the Chief.

"He said he didn't know if it was me."

"Did you believe him?"

"I…no. No, I didn't. My face was hexed; Hermione hit me with a stinging jinx to make it swell. It was enough for the snatchers to be unsure of who I was but anyone that knew me well would have been able to tell it was me."

"Mister Malfoy," the witch addressed Draco, making him snap out of his thoughts, "can you confirm what Mister Potter is saying?"

"I guess so," Draco mumbled.

"You guess so? Did you or did you not know that it was Harry at your house?"

"I did," Draco conceded, looking at the floor. He did not want Potter to know that he had done him a favour.

"And did you lie to Bellatrix Lestrange, tell her that you were unsure so that she would not summon He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"Thank you Mister Malfoy. Now, Harry," she said turning her gaze back to the chair in the centre of the room, "can you tell us about Mrs Malfoy's involvement in your defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

A small applause broke out in the court at this and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled before telling the story Narcissa had told Draco just weeks before.

As with Draco's involvement, the court questioned Narcissa and she confirmed what Harry was saying, going as far to telling the room that the only thing she cared about in that moment was finding her son alive. Draco felt a surge of love for his mother but remained composed.

Harry was dismissed after this and the court began to question the Malfoy's individually. They started with Lucius and were brutal in their inquisition. They listed the charges against him including him lying about being under the imperius curse after Voldemort fell from power all those years ago and even went as far as naming the Muggles Lucius had tortured at the Quidditch World Cup.

Draco braced himself when the court turned their attentions to him, but found they were a lot kinder to him than his father. They talked about Dumbledore's death and how, even when he was given the opportunity, he still did not kill him. Draco admitted he had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts but only because Voldemort had threatened his family. The court seemed sympathetic towards him and moved on to questioning his mother. Her interview lasted mere minutes, for she was not branded as a Death Eater and her involvement in torture and murder had been non-existent. She did however, admit to the Death Eaters using her home as a place to keep prisoners.

For several long moments after this, the court spoke amongst themselves, apparently coming to a verdict. With a wave of his hand, the Chief Warlock silenced the court and stood to address the family.

"All those in favour of finding Narcissa Malfoy guilty?"

Draco felt a jolt as only three hands were raised.

"Cleared of all charges. All those in favour of finding Draco Malfoy guilty?"

He held his breath as he watched the court, this time more hands were raised but considerably less than half. He breathed a sigh of relief, he was free.

"Also cleared of all charges. All those in favour of finding Lucius Malfoy guilty?"

Shock coursed through Draco as almost every hand raised in front of him. He glanced at his father who was watching the court with a glassy-eyed expression, no sign at all that he knew what the hands meant. The cuffs locked around his wrists in case he made an attempt to escape but he remained motionless. Narcissa let out a cry.

"Lucius Malfoy is found guilty of all charges presented to him today. He will be removed from the court and immediately taken to Azkaban where he will await details of his length of imprisonment. Court dismissed.

The witches and wizards rose from the benches and filed out of the door Draco had entered the room though. The guards approached the three Malfoys and told Draco and his mother that they were free to go. Narcissa fell to her knees at her husband's feet and sobbed into his lap and still he did not react. Draco managed, with the help of one of the guards, to pull his mother away and out of the court. He glanced at his shoulder and saw his father being dragged across the room to a different door and knew that would be the last time he ever saw him.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco had to half-carry his mother out of the Ministry and spent five minutes at the fireplaces trying to calm her down enough to trust that she would be able to floo alone. He stepped into the flames as soon as her figure had disappeared and followed her home. When he climbed out at the other end Narcissa was sitting on the huge black leather couch with her head in her hands, sobbing.

Draco stood rooted to the spot for several moments before walking past his mother and out of the room. Guilt pooled in his stomach but he dismissed it, he knew Narcissa was a proud woman and would rather he act as though he had never seen her emotional breakdown.

He dragged himself up the stairs to the third floor of the house and the end of the wide corridor where his childhood bedroom was located. He entered the room and gently closed the door behind him with a soft click and looked around. A large four-posted bed dominated the room, it was made from oak so dark it was almost black, the hangings and bed sheets were bottle green and silver; not dissimilar to those he'd had during his time at Hogwarts. The only other furniture was one bedside table and a wardrobe made from the same wood as the bed. There was also a door to the right which led to his own en-suite bathroom.

The longer Draco stood staring at the four overly familiar walls, the more frustrated he felt. The room reminded him of hours spent trying, and failing, to avoid the murder, torture and plotting that was happening two floors below. It reminded him of his mother crying on his shoulder because his father would not stop drinking. Not one single happy memory could be thought of as he stared and so he decided he would not spend another night in it.

He pulled out his old Hogwarts trunk from the bottom of the wardrobe and heaved it over to the bed, where he flung the lid open. Years of debris left from his days at school lay in the bottom; quills, empty ink pots and a badge that was only half bothering to flash between 'Vote Cedric Diggory: the REAL Hogwarts champion!' and 'Potter Stinks!'. He pulled his wand from his back pocket and with a wave and a mumble of 'scourgify', the contents vanished.

Trunk now clean, Draco began to haphazardly throw in items of clothing from his wardrobe, paying little attention to what he was packing. Once there was, what he assumed to be, a decent number of clothes in the trunk, he turned to the bedside table and picked up a small photograph in a silver frame. A thirteen year old version of himself, and his unchanging mother waved up at him, in a formal rather than friendly way. Draco couldn't remember where the picture was taken but he knew that it represented happier times, before everything in his life had taken a dark turn that could not be reversed. He ran his finger along the top of the frame, clearing dust that had gathered since his father had thrown a shirt at their house-elf in a fit of range, before gently placing it on the top of his clothes and then closing the lid of the trunk. He waved his wand over it once more to make it feather-light and floated it in front of him as he descended the stairs, not bothering to take a last look at his bedroom.

He left his case at the bottom of the stairs and pulled his Nimbus 2001 out of the broom cupboard underneath the grand staircase, placing it on the floor with his trunk before entering the living room. His mother remained in the same seat he had left her in half an hour previously though, much to Draco's relief, she appeared to have calmed down.

"Mother?" he called to her tentatively.

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice and she turned to look at him. Her eyes were red and her lids swollen, the small amount of make-up she had applied before their trial was now staining her cheeks; she looked heartbroken but still managed a small smile for her son.

He crossed the room and sat down on the far end of the couch, trying to assemble his thoughts.

"Mother, I-" he began.

"You're leaving aren't you?"

"How did you know?" he asked, perplexed.

"Mother's intuition. You think I don't notice the way you look at this house, but I do. When we came back from…" she paused. "I could see it in your eyes; disgust. You don't want to be here."

"I can't be here Mother. Too much has happened. I need space away from here. You understand?"

"Wholly," she replied simply.

"What will you do?"

"Stay," she answered as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "There must always be Malfoy's in Malfoy Manor, Draco, you know that."

"But Father is-" he protested.

"Not here," she interrupted him once again. "That does not mean that I shouldn't be. Besides, this is my home."

Draco let out a defeated sigh. He knew there would be no arguing with his mother and simply nodded. "Get another elf though, will you? This house is too big for you to clean and we both know your cooking skills leave a lot to be desired."

She chuckled and it was a sound filled with hope for Draco. He knew that his mother would cope without him and Lucius. She was an incredibly strong woman and it was only now that his father was gone that Draco could see it. He moved up the sofa and pulled her into a hug that she returned immediately.

"Where will you go?" she asked when they broke apart.

"I'm not sure yet. I have to go to London first to draw out some money and then your guess is as good as mine."

"Take care of yourself, and write to me?"

"Of course." He hugged her one last time before leaving the house, picking up his trunk and broom as he did.

Once past the albino peacocks that stalked the long driveway and then beyond the huge cast iron gates, Draco fixed the trunk to the back of his broom before mounting it. He could have easily apparated to London but the flight would give him time to arrange his thoughts and come up with some sort of plan for the near future. He kicked off hard from the ground and momentarily basked in the feeling of the wind in his face and the weightless sensation that came with flying, knowing the real reason he was flying to London was simply because he had missed being on a broom.

* * *

The first thing Draco did when he arrived in London was to book himself a room at the Leaky Cauldron. The old owner shuffled up the stairs and led him to a door on the second floor, he unlocked it and ushered Draco inside before giving him a toothless grin and bowing out of the room.

It was fairly basic and nothing compared to the standard of bedroom Draco was used to. A small bed covered in moth-bitten sheets stood at one side and he eyed it sceptically wondering if it would actually hold his weight. There was a small dresser with three drawers and a round mirror stood on top of it whistling contentedly.

He lowered his floating trunk to the floor, disturbing the dust that lay there, and leant his broom against the wall before retreating out of the room.

The bar downstairs was quiet, there were only two guests sitting down; a formidable looking witch wearing filthy brown robes who appeared to be talking to herself and a wizard who was eyeing his surroundings though it was the first time he had been there, it became evident when Draco noticed a bowl of greenish-grey lumpy soup on the table in front of him. Everyone who was familiar with the Leaky Cauldron knew not to order the soup.

The toothless owner was now cleaning the bar with a grey rag that looked as though it was doing more harm than good. Distracted by Draco's presence, he scrubbed the same small spot as his eyes followed Draco crossing the room and leaving through the door that led to the courtyard.

Once outside in the welcome sunshine, Draco pulled out his wand and tapped the brick that sat three up and two across from the battered silver dustbin. He stepped back as a tiny hole appeared in the wall and grew in size until it became a huge archway.

The last time Draco had been here many of the shops were closed down, either because they were owned by muggle-borns who had fled for their own safety or been hunted down and killed. A permanent cloud seemed to hang over the street since Voldemort's return became public knowledge. No-one spoke to anyone else and people did not stroll leisurely from one shop to another, browsing the shelves and eyeing the window displays, they purchased their necessary items and went home as quickly as they could.

Now Diagon Alley was as busy and bustling as it always was before; women pulled young children along whilst carrying multiple bags from the different stores the street held; people stopped abruptly to chat to a friend they had spotted, angering those who were behind and in a hurry; and bells could be heard jingling in doorways as people rushed in and out of shops.

Keeping his head down; not wanting to see anyone he knew, Draco walked straight down the middle of the street, bypassing the shops and heading to Gringotts. There were no longer wizard guards at the door now that the war was over but two particularly surly looking Goblins stood there, eyeing anyone that entered with extreme dislike and suspicion.

He handed one of the Goblins at the desks his small brass key that granted him access to the Malfoy vault and suffered a five minute cart ride to get him there. Huge piles of gold, silver and bronze filled the dark cavern as well as family heirlooms that his mother had deemed too hideous to be displayed at the Manor. He filled his money bag with a few handfuls of gold, shrank it and slipped it into his pocket before being driven back to the door that would take him back to the entrance hall.

His first destination after that was Flourish and Blotts bookstore. The many shelves and stands were lined with books on every subject imaginable, Draco passed the section on 'Potions' and another on 'Household pests' before he reached his topic of interest: 'Travel'.

When he left the shop twenty minutes later, he had fewer galleons but a bag full of new information books. Not needing anything else, Draco returned to his room at the Leaky Cauldron, sat down on the bed (which, as it turned out, did hold his weight) and tipped out his purchases in front of him.

The books he had bought were all about international travel and after several hours of reading, Draco had decided that Europe was where he wanted to be. There were plenty of towns across the continent which were mainly inhabited by magical people and Draco planned to experience them all. He longed to be around witches and wizards who _didn't _know his name, _didn't _know his family and _didn't _know his history.

He opened the fold-out map of Europe that came with one of his books and looked at the towns that were circled as wizard inhabited, unsure of where to begin his journey. His gaze landed upon a red circle in the south of Greece, an island by the name of Kos. Draco tapped the circle with his wand and the island magnified, new labels appearing, one of which he was particularly attracted to.

"Paradise beach," he mumbled to himself. "Sounds like my kind of beach."

"Mine too, dear," the mirror told him sleepily.

A glance at his watch told him it was late; past midnight. Draco gathered his books and the map and dropped them into his open trunk, pulling out a pair of pyjama pants as he did. He climbed into bed several minutes later and fell into an effortless sleep filled with dreams of white sands and anonymity. He would leave for Paradise Beach in the morning.


End file.
